By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
On a shared minivan, I bumped my way to the city of Baalbek, a Hezbollah stronghold in Lebanon housing the largest Roman sanctuary ruins to date. The driver pulled me over at a desolate checkpoint. However, no stern security officers seemed to care about my existence except for some local villagers whose eyes exuded curiosity and welcome. Along the monochrome asphalt road, shabby hotel and restaurant signs hung over dilapidated buildings. Street vendors went their extra mile to win over haggling battles. I went in a silverware shop and ended up sipping free coffee next to an electricity generator. It was yet another hour potentially living in dark and technology-free. The UNESCO heritage site was just a few yards away. Historically known as Heliopolis or City of the Sun in the Hellenistic period, the temples of Jupiter, Bacchus and Venus were built from the 1st century B.C. to the 3rd century A.D. They were transformed into a basilica when Christianity was declared as the official religion of the Roman Empire in 313 A.D. and later a fortress between 7th and 16th century A.D. under the Arab rule. Upon arriving at the entrance, I went through the Propylaea, Hexagonal Forecourt and Great Court and reached the Temple of Jupiter. Megaliths dispersed across the terrain, and reliefs on the entablatures jutted elegantly out of the vast architectural design. The distinctive patterns and artistic carvings high above the platform stood out amidst the color of loess. Suddenly, a man approached me as I took in the unrealistically giant structures. My flustered and sluggish look did not seem to relinquish his enthusiasm as he talked to me in mixed Arabic and French. My friend came and helped translate. The man wanted to take pictures of me with the six iconic Corinthian Columns. I asked him of the price, but he waved his hands wildly with a big smile on his face. I was doubtful, but surrendered my phone after a prolonged stare. He snatched it swiftly, moved around to find suitable angles, and demonstrated different postures. After several photo shoots, he began to introduce the site. I nodded every time he made a pause and thanked him in French. “Merci!” － and in Arabic too “Shukran!” In fact, I felt ashamed of mistaking his kind offer as a plausible tourist trap and camera scam. On way back, a soft red hue fell on the sacred Sayyida Khawla Mosque, shrine of a granddaughter of Imam Ali whom Shia Muslims around the world revered as the rightful successor to Prophet Muhammad. Elaborate turquoise and emerald tiles embellished the mosque’s exterior walls, and adorned the dull and empty neighborhood. To this day, due to the language barrier, I still did not know the identity of the Baalbek camera man. Nevertheless, I would always remember how I learned to appreciate the uniqueness and beauty of the grand ruins through the lens of his feverish eyes. He certainly equipped great insight and a charitable heart.